


Mistletoe and Wine

by samanthalo



Category: Frozen (2013)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-30
Updated: 2014-01-30
Packaged: 2018-01-10 13:01:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1160025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/samanthalo/pseuds/samanthalo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Drabble-ish - Anna loves Yuletide and, more recently, spiced wine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mistletoe and Wine

The Yuletide banquets held in the Great Hall are magnificent affairs, a celebration of all things silver and white and golden and bright, and Anna loves them almost as much as she loves chocolate, and singing, and riding the polished wooden banister down the stairs, and the new paintings in the gallery. She loves the long table and its pristine settings, the crystal goblets with delicately beveled sides that play catch with the lantern light, the finest silverware so shiny it was entirely possible to check one's reflection in the rounded back of a spoon or the long length of a butter knife. She loves the rolling, twisting sweeps of fragrant garland, sprigs of holly and pine peppered with berries and pinecones, that frame every entryway, every window, like crawling vines around a trellis. They'll leave it up for weeks after, until the needles and leaves begin to fall, and she will steal a small length to keep in her room to make it smell like forest and winter for just awhile longer. She loves the lights in all their glowing multitude, each little flame burning for hours inside its glass casing until someone comes by at the end of the night to softly extinguish the blaze on its wick.

She is especially excited for the Yuletide celebration this year because it will be the first year since they were children that Elsa will be attending. Not just attending, but presiding, in her own special way. Poised at the head of the banquet table, she creates a little flurry of softly falling snow around the edge of the room and slices the first chunk of meat from the roasted turkey, one of two between twin rows of excited, salivating lords and ladies. It takes her a few tries with the knife, and she has to make sure the rich velvet of her blue cape doesn't fall into the juice collecting on the massive plate the turkey is resting upon. Anna chuckles when she glances at her date for the evening only to find his eyes completely fixated on the slab of breast Elsa has slipped onto someone's plate. The chef takes over from there so Elsa can sit back and sip her spiced wine and the rest of their guests can conversate to help ease the wait as the food gets passed down, person to person. She looks at her own glass of wine, the first she's ever been given in all the years of attending the Yuletide feast, and swirls the deep burgundy liquid around uncertainly.

“It's not ale, but it's pretty good.” Kristoff mentions, taking an impressive swig from his stein. Anna frowns when she compares the size of his glass with her own.

“As long as you sip it.” Elsa adds, raising her eyebrows pointedly as she daintily illustrates her advice. The wine leaves a faint red stain on her already crimson lips. Anna shrugs and tips her own goblet back, sputtering when she swallows and the overwhelming taste of allspice and cloves hits just the wrong spot in her throat. Thankfully, the rest of the group is too enamored with their food to notice. Kristoff and Elsa laugh a bit when she takes another to help wash down the first, causing her to grimace.

The meal is enough to distract anyone. Before long, each plate is filled with creamy lumps of mashed potatoes topped by steaming, gelatinous pools of gravy, thick chunks of turkey, crude pyramids of brussel sprouts and carrots covered in a tart and garlicky dressing. She's found room, somehow, to include her own helping of the thick cranberry sauce, though others have decided to hold off until dessert. Kristoff makes a little noise when she piles a few jellied berries onto some shreds of her turkey. “What?” She asks, shoving a forkful into her mouth.

“That's gross.” He replies with a smile, scooping a large dollop of potato and melted butter between his lips.

“She's always liked doing that.” Elsa pipes up. Her plate isn't nearly as full as Anna or Kristoff's, but she's tucking into the fare with almost as much enthusiasm. Anna shoots her a half-hearted frown as she dabs at her lips with a crisp linen napkin. Elsa shrugs innocently. “What? It's true. Remember when you mixed your stuffing with it too and put it all on your roll and made this terrible sandwich-” She flushes bright red as Kristoff begins to laugh through his potatoes, hunched over his plate should he need it.

“I was five years old!” In her humiliation, she hides her flush by finishing up what remains of her wine, wincing even as she raises her empty glass for the waitstaff standing nearby.

“Adventurous as always.” Kristoff mutters fondly. He's finished most of his food and is already looking for seconds. Anna is vaguely impressed. She sips her newly replenished wine and likes the little zing that accompanies the taste this time. The cloves aren't quite as overpowering. She's beginning to really like its bittersweet, heady flavor, the way it replaces the turkey on her tongue.

“Remember when you set your hair on fire trying to reach across the table to steal my pie?” Anna mentions with a smirk. Elsa doesn't look up, but her mouth twists into a hidden smile as she devours a verdant brussel sprout. They spend the rest of dinner trading little memories of the other, some for Kristoff's benefit, others purely for their own. He listens silently as he continues to eat, eyes passing between the two sisters with amusement when they argue about a tiny detail, or break into eerily similar giggles. When Elsa is finished and her plate's been removed, she stands and stretches. A few people farther down the table follow suit.

“Oh, it feels good to stand and move around a little. What a wonderful feast, thank you.” She nods to the chef and the cooks, waiting just off to the side, smiling happily at all the content diners before them.

“But we haven't had dessert yet?” Anna pouts, eyeing the table and finding it woefully lacking in anything of the sweet and doughy variety. Where are the pies and the pastries and the chocolate truffles? Where are the bowls of whipped cream and caramel sauce? A heartbroken look crosses her face and Elsa is at her side, leaning down and over her shoulder to peck a light little kiss on the side of her temple. There is something very familiar in the action. Anna is reminded of their mother and she pauses for just a moment when cold but comforting fingers squeeze the base of her neck.

“Don't worry. There's plenty of time for dessert.” The Queen moves down the table, stopping to talk to the other guests with casual grace. Anna and Kristoff watch her for a moment before he, too, pushes back his chair and stretches his long legs out beneath the table.

“I'm going to be totally honest, I don't know if I could even attempt to eat anything else right now, even if it is dessert.” He pats the taut surface of his stomach, slightly rounded above the crimson silk of his sash, and rolls his head back with a satisfied but full sigh. Anna glances down at her empty plate, stomach struggling to churn the generous helpings she's just consumed, and finds herself agreeing. She bites at her bottom lip but doesn't feel the sharp press of her teeth into the plump flesh. Her head buzzes slightly as she finishes her second glass of wine.

“So, now what?” Kristoff asks. He pokes at his stein on the table in front of him and surveys the rest of the party as people stand and begin to mill around, most choosing to join in the little bubble around Elsa who's entertaining as best she can. Others are enjoying the decorations, talking animatedly with Kai and Gerda about the spruce they use, where they find such fresh trimming in the cold weather.

“Well, dancing and more talking and hopefully chocolate.” She explains unhelpfully, slurring the ends of her words just a bit. Kristoff frowns at her, watching her closely when she stands and sways almost imperceptibly on her kitten heels. “Come on, I'll take you to the ball room.” His hand is very large in her own, but she twines her fingers between his as best she can and leads him out of the Great Hall into the adjacent ball room, also draped with all the trappings of a Yuletide festival. There's mistletoe hung conspicuously beneath every peaked archway but Kristoff ducks out of reach just in time, smiling apologetically when she sulkily looks over her shoulder at him.

“What's that all about?” She pouts as the small orchestra begins to play a quiet melody and the rest of the dinner guests begin to filter in around them. She's been trying to keep her expectations in check. Kristoff is a real man, not a fairy tale prince, or one of the sobs in the gallery. She understands that he does not always think of the most romantic thing to say or do, and she's perfectly alright with that because he makes up for it in the best, most unexpected ways. However, Anna can't help but remember how she spent so many Yuletide celebrations watching her parents go through the same motions, the same traditions, ending each supper with a sweet, perfect kiss situated just beneath a certain little green leaf and she just wants to do it once, maybe twice. She opens her mouth to say so when Kristoff shrugs and begins heading toward a beverage table set just inside the doorway.

“What are you talking about?” Kristoff feigns innocence.

“Your mistletoe allergy.” She points out, stalking behind him, standing beside him as he looks down at the single bowl of punch surrounded by an army of small, glass mugs. His nose crinkles at the pink liquid as he trails the silver spoon around the crystal bowl.

“I'm not allergic to mistletoe. Haven't you people ever heard of beer?” Anna rolls her eyes, punches him lightly on the arm, and separates his hand from the ladle. When she attempts to pour her own glass, she ends up spilling quite a bit over the tablecloth. Kristoff seems confused and concerned at the same time. She slurps the punch noisily and happily, smiling with snarky glee when Kristoff's brows furrow further at her.

“There is nothing wrong with this punch.” To prove her point, she pours herself another helping, losing most of it, again, on the table.

“It's pink.”

“What's wrong with pink?”

“I'm a man, everything is wrong with pink.”

“You know, you two,” Elsa interrupts, peeking her blonde head between them and grabbing Anna by the arm, “I can't be the only one to entertain everyone all night.” She makes a quick gesture to the band and the men seamlessly transition into a jaunty carol. Anna has just enough time to give Kristoff her glass before Elsa is pulling her out onto the dance floor and putting her into the arms of a grandfatherly gentleman with a notable, bristly white mustache.

“Princess.” He leads her into a moderately paced waltz while others begin to pair off and dive into a quicker dance. Anna finds she's fine with their speed. The punch and the wine have seemingly traveled from her stomach to her head. She feels her lids open and close sluggishly, the smile across her face languid like molasses, as the room spins into a swirl of color and muddled figures. It's fascinating the way the rich golden hues of the columns and the red velveteen curtains combine like ripples hitting each other in a pond, the highlights being the yellow crystalline glass of the chandelier and the wall sconces, the shadows the deep browns and purples of the tapestries and paintings.

Before she's snapped out of her reverie, the old man has passed her off to a middle-aged man with thin wire spectacles and a silver brooch on his sharp lapel. She focuses in on its sparkling gems even as he swings her around the floor, making pleasant conversation that she only vaguely responds to. It reminds her of ice and the glimmering snowflakes in Elsa's braid and on Kristoff's eyebrows when he comes in from the cold. A deep need explodes within her, a sudden and acute yearning for her two closest companions, and she sloppily excuses herself mid-dance. She nearly plows over the old man and his wife as she exits the dance floor, hopping on one slippered foot when she spots Elsa and Kristoff easily chatting on the peripheral of swirling bodies. They're watching her, eyes sparking with mirth, as she walks over, footfalls just a little too heavy, her body strangely leaning to the left. Elsa rights her with steady arms when she stops and stumbles a bit before them.

“How much wine did you have?” Elsa asks with laughter in her voice. Anna thinks and holds up a hand, bending and unbending her fingers to try and show how many glasses she'd drained, but she inevitably fails.

“What a lightweight.” Kristoff adds.

“It was good.”

“Yes, well, you might not think that when you wake up in the morning.” She doesn't want to think about sleeping. Her hazy mind is clouded with unexplainable desires, to have someone share in this strange state of being with her. She leans into Elsa for a sloppy hug and her sister acquiesces, but grunts somewhat under the strain of holding up her loose and weighty body.

“I love you.” She murmurs, so happy to have the opportunity to share such a special time of year with her once again.

“I love you too-” But Anna is pulling away quickly, reeling backwards and then pitching forward into Kristoff's broad chest, burying her nose into the smooth wool of his nice, clean tunic and wrapping her arms around his tree-trunk torso.

“I love you.” She whispers, so low and quiet she thinks maybe he didn't quite hear her, but then his arms wrap around her narrow shoulders and she feels the delightful pressure of his lips on the top of her head. Overcome with emotion, Anna pulls away enough to once more grab Elsa and she draws her into the embrace, smile widening when she feels Kristoff's arm lift to accommodate her sister.

“Alright, alright. Maybe you need to take a little walk.” Elsa says when a few long moments have passed.

“I'll take her.” Kristoff answers quickly. Anna rolls her eyes, the action increasing her dizziness.

“You just don't want to stand here anymore.” She teases. “That too.” Elsa waves as he leads Anna out of the ball room and towards the winding staircase. She's a little drunk, but she knows where he's taking her, and she's both displeased and excited at the same time. Kristoff makes a point of avoiding her bedroom after Elsa caught them once, at the beginning of winter, in a somewhat compromising situation on the floor in front of the hearth. It wasn't anything but a kiss gotten a little out of hand, but since then, Kristoff has been terrified of simply living on borrowed time. What a great way to get him to come back and spend a little time, especially with Elsa busy downstairs. She speeds ahead of him, reaching for the banister, and instead flys past it and straight into one of the suits of armor.

Kristoff tries to clean up the mess, but its hopeless. He piles it neatly together and turns back to Anna, already trying to climb the stairs. After the first few steps and her stumbles, he gives in and just picks her up, carrying her the rest of the way with little notice. Anna doesn't mind. The smell radiating from his bare, warm neck is almost as intoxicating as the wine and she breathes in greedily, running lazy fingers through the shaggy locks of blonde hair just above his collar. He doesn't set her down when they reach the top hallway. It's quiet up here, not as bright. Though the lanterns are lit, their glow is somewhat subdued by the dark stripes of wallpaper, the red-violet of the carpeting, the dark wood beams in the ceiling. She can make out the light snow falling on the peaked roof of the castle when they pass by windows, the late-night lavender creating its own glow. These colors are the other side of Yuletide, the cool reflection to the warm fire-side celebration just downstairs. She remembers the peaceful nights as a little girl after she was sent to bed, stomach full of milk and cookies, head full of dreams as the winter swirled by, free and uncaring.

“Why didn't you want to kiss me?” She murmurs, idly fiddling with the stitched edge of Kristoff's vest. Glancing up through her lashes, she can see the body part in question, his thin but potent lips and their little upturned corners.

“I always want to kiss you.” He says somewhat sullenly. They're almost to her bedroom. She counts the doors as he passes by them and feels her inebriation filter slowly into a thick, foggy sleepiness. Papa used to carry her like this, sometimes, when she was very tired or just very awake.

“So why didn't you?”

“Because.” Kristoff answers simply, as if it is just that simple. She scoffs and rolls her head against the strong timber of his collarbone.

“Because why?”

“You're kind of drunk.” He said, a shadow of amusement in his voice. Her bedroom door isn't latched. When Kristoff arrives at her door, he just has to nudge it open and walk inside. The room is dark and kind of cold. She shivers in her nice dress and curls herself tighter into his arms.

“What does that matter?” He sets her down on her bed and makes quick work in the hearth, lighting a fire so quickly she wonders if it isn't magic. She watches him while he arranges the logs in the growing flame, the push and pull of the muscles just beneath his shoulder, and bites her lip again at the surprising urge washing over her to touch and feel. She always wants to touch and feel him, and maybe so does so, but always in a measured way. Tonight, toying tiredly with her neckline, she believes she could lose that restraint as easily as it is to unbraid her hair at night.

Anna breathes his name as she tries to wiggle closer over the mattress, but succeeds only in falling into her pillows. Kristoff turns slightly, pivoting a bit on his heel where he's crouched, and laughs at her antics. His laughter only frustrates her.

“Kiss me now.” She demands childishly.

“Excuse me, princess?” He stands and props his hands on his trim hips.

“I don't see any mistletoe.”

“Forget the mistletoe, for now.” She squeezes her eyes shut and purses her lips tightly, looking more like a duck than a princess. “Come on, kiss me.”

“Anna-”

“Kiiiiiiiss meeeee.” She draws out the words purposefully but ends up losing the syllables in a rather poorly timed yawn. Kristoff sighs and carefully sets himself down on her bed, just out of her reach.

“Can you get into your pajamas by yourself or should I send Elsa up to help you?”

“I'm not tired.” But her eyes are drifting shut and her body feels cumbersome. “I want a kiss.”

“Anna-”

“If you give me a kiss, I'll go to sleep.”

“How about you just go to sleep and I'll wake you up with a kiss?” She finds she's growing too tired to argue, which only makes her want to argue more.

“Kristooooff...”

“Listen, Anna, when I kiss you, I want you to remember its happening.” He's given up on trying to convince her to change, so instead, he stands and tugs at the quilt she's pressed on. Anna scoots up, trying to help him free the blankets and sheets.

“I'll remember, I promise. I want you to kiss me! I'm giving you express permission!”

“It's not going to happen.” Kristoff takes off her slippers and throws them gently to the side of the bed. He pulls the covers up and over her body, dress and all, and tucks her in as if she were a child. Anna frowns at the tender action. She knows he's just trying to be nice, she knows this is his way of showing her how he cares, by taking care of her in the simplest of ways, but something still bothers her. Surprise tears appear at the corners of her eyes and she turns over onto her side quickly, disrupting Kristoff's work as swell of sadness begins to rise at the base of her chest.

“Anna-” She shivers beneath her quilt and turns deeper into her pillow. Kristoff's shadow moves, disappears, and then he's kneeling against the side of the bed, round brown eyes looking at her with affectionate sympathy. “Like I said before, I always want to kiss you. This isn't about that-”

“I know, I know.” Anna tells him, her voice already growing thick. “I know that, it's just...I just want...It's mistletoe, you know?” She's a babbling idiot and she digs her face beneath the guilt in abject embarrassment, sure Kristoff didn't understand what she meant at all. She's trying to figure out the right words when she hears him rustling in his pocket. A moment later, a single, massive finger pulls down the blankets so he can present to her a somewhat crushed twig of mistletoe, complete with beautifully tied pink ribbon.

“I had it all planned out,” Kristoff admits with a wide grin at her shocked face, “I was going to walk you back to your room at the end of the night and surprise you, but I hadn't really intended for you to like that wine so much.” He raises an eyebrow as he lifts the mistletoe just between their heads. Anna squeaks as she leaps up and crashes their foreheads together at the same time as their lips.

 

 

* * *

 

Kristoff appears back in the ball room more than a few minutes later, looking perfectly normal save for a distinct blush across his cheeks and a ruffled patch in his hair. Elsa shakes her head amusedly when he bows to her. He is unaware of how he looks.

“Alright, your Majesty, Anna's safe in bed and I have a tankard of beer with my name on it. I hope you don't mind if I take off a bit early.”

“Not at all.” She's about to let him get off the hook scott-free when she decides its always a bit more fun to watch him squirm for a bit. “Oh, Kristoff, do you still have that mistletoe I gave you before dinner?” He stops as he's turning to leave, back going straight, eyes going wide and nervous chuckling escaping his lips.

“Um, well, about that, see, it's a really long and uninteresting story-”

“I'm sure it is. Regardless, you're welcome.”

**Author's Note:**

> Apparently, my drabbles are now 5 pages long. I used to be really good at doing short little fics, but no longer. Thanks to everyone leavings kudos! :)


End file.
